Meat Man

What’s around the corner? Summer! and that means bbq’ing right? And what do you put on the bbq. MEAT! Who bbq’s the meat in your house? Meat Man (what I call my guy) does the grilling over here. Are you wondering why I call him Meat Man? Well, let me tell ya. But first, I’m pretty sure I know what your first thought was and I’ll leave that with you to ponder and wonder.

Back to the origination of Meat Man. It was coined at a girls weekend I had oh, about five years ago. Each of us girls brought a food item and since my guy works in the beef business I brought steaks. They were so good I think he could have had his dream fantasy that night. And so, Meat Man was born.

I’ve always thought it a great book title and stashed it away for usage at some future point. Well, I think the time is here. I’m about 3000 words away from finishing my foodie romance with a flavour of domination. The heroine will love her role, since she’s the meat in a man sandwich. Much like I was last year at Romanticon with two Ellora’s Cave Cavemen.

Here’s a little unedited taste of my foodie romance for you.

*

Heat flushed her cheeks and her nipples hardened. He didn’t even have to touch her and she wet her panties for him. Her pussy throbbed and she nearly swallowed her tongue when he glanced at her, catching her mid-stare. Had she moaned or something?

His blue eyes, so like the tropical sea across the beach, imprisoned her and she didn’t move. A slow, lazy smile widened his lips, and she smiled back.

“Thinking about me?” His voice was just as slow and lazy as his smile, with a deep timbre that wrapped around her like hot honey.

“Uhm, maybe.”

“Tell me, Faye. If you were, I’d like to hear what you were thinking.” He carried on slicing the papaya in front of him. His hands, large and tanned handled the soft flesh with care, like he handled her.

She watched, licked her lips and boiled inside. The Florida heat, only slightly tempered by the Gulf breeze that blew in off the sparkling waters, swept over her skin like a soft wet tongue.

His tongue.

She whimpered softly when he sliced another fruit in half and ran his fingers though the seed filled center, scooping out the sticky dark seeds and dropping them in a bowl. Faye always thought a papaya resembled a woman’s pussy and the way he was handling the fruit made her want him. Bad. She let her hungry gaze run over his muscled forearm, pausing briefly on the intricate tattoo of an intertwined fork, knife and spoon on the tanned skin.

She glanced at his face, he was watching her. His smile quirked up on one side, showing his dimple and when he winked at her she nearly melted into a puddle. Oh. My. God. Transfixed, Faye stood with what she was sure was a gape fish expression. She tried to snap her mouth shut and give the aura of control, but knew she failed miserably.

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